


Eight O'clock

by StuffandThangs11



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Inappropriate Behavior, Masturbation, Miscarriage, Mutual Masturbation, Online Friendship, Online Relationship, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25151788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StuffandThangs11/pseuds/StuffandThangs11
Summary: Abigail Harper has been through the ringer, both physically and emotionally. She's scratched and clawed her way into a new chapter of her life. Insert the mysterious S. Jacobs and the neatly ordered world of that new chapter isn't so easily maintained.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS:  
> This fic will be a slow burn and is liable to eventually get very dark and twisted as most of my writing does. (I do try to put things back together in the end though!)
> 
> I update tags with every chapter if needed. Please watch the warning tags as it progresses for anything that might understandably trigger you.

The concealer gradually masks the purple bruise around her eye as she carefully dabs the cream over the wound. The split lip is another concern, but there’s very little to be done about that.

A month ago, the divorce was final. A month ago, Abigail had told the police that her ex-husband was dangerous. A month ago, the police had said that without proof they could do nothing. They had implied that it was her fault for not keeping a better record of his abuses. Tim was almost always good at keeping any physical marks he left on her well-hidden. And for her own part, her own shame and guilt had led to her complicity in allowing his abuse to remain hidden. He was so good at lording over her and playing mind games.

Sometimes Abby still thinks that maybe the police were right, that it was her fault that law enforcement’s hands were tied. She should have done something. Sometimes, in brief moments of clarity, she realizes that the system is built in a way to protect the abusers rather than the victims of said abuse.

Even after the divorce, Tim tried to get her back. He texted and sent flowers. He tried to woo her, played the same mind games that he always had even as Abby built a new life as a single woman. It isn’t much different than her old life aside from the new apartment, new furniture, new everything. They’re all just things though. Her trauma is the same.

One drunken night he pounded on the door to her new apartment, begging and then screaming when she wouldn’t let him in. It had taken real strength for Abby to stick to her guns and not open the door, not reply to his texts, not answer his phone calls, not accept his apologies, not repeat the cycle. It shouldn’t be so hard, but it is. Tim wasn’t always mean, after all. There was a time when he had been kind and she had truly loved him.

Then, three nights ago, when Abigail went downstairs to retrieve her grocery order, Tim had been there. She’d been so startled that she had simply told him to go away as she quickly grabbed her bags and turned back inside the apartment building. Tim followed her in.

Instead of waiting in the lobby for the elevator where he could corner her, Abby chose to stay on the move. She had dialed 911 as she took the stairs to get up to the fourth floor of her five-story building.

Tim’s voice echoed in the stairwell behind her. “Come on, Abs. I love you. You know you still love me. I fucked up, right? I always fuck up. We can stay divorced if you want. Just let me be with you. Will you just stop and listen to me? You aren’t even giving me a chance! That’s all I’m asking for, just a chance! Stop, Abby. Stop and just listen to me. People change. I’m changing! I can be better!”

Her breath had been heavy after climbing the stairs with her arms full of grocery bags. She pushed the stairwell door open to the fourth floor. She could vaguely hear the 911 operator from her phone and quickly gave her address and asked for help.

They came, of course, as expected. Help didn’t get there in time to keep Tim from grabbing Abigail by her hair and throwing her into her own apartment, her new apartment, the place that wasn’t supposed to have anything in it tainted by Tim McCullough. Help didn’t get there in time to stop the beating.

It’s a strange thing to be told you’re loved at the same moment a fist is flying at your face, to be asked for forgiveness even as the toe of a boot kicks at your sides.

Help saved her life; Abby is sure of it. Tim would have killed her if they hadn’t arrived when they did. They got him off of her. They took him into custody. They dressed her wounds as best they could and reluctantly left when she wouldn’t go to a hospital. They did their jobs with the quick compassion of professionals and then went off to the next disaster.

She finally got her restraining order.

The very next day Abby put new, top-notch security in every room of her apartment. Cameras watch movement in every room. The front door and every window are fitted with an alarm and sound detection should someone try to break in.

She won’t stay silent anymore should Tim come at her again. She won’t make the same mistakes of the past.

Abby looks in the mirror and dabs more concealer around the abused left side of her lips, blending it in with her naturally pale complexion.

Her long auburn hair has air dried with soft, natural waves. Her eyes have always been the bluest of blue, like the purest waters of the ocean. A light dusting of freckles dots her nose and cheeks. She stands at about five feet and six inches in height with curvy hips and breasts and a small waist that has more to do with her upbringing than anything.

Helen, her mother, has always been very hard on her. Abby was always to keep up appearances, to maintain her Mother’s sky-high standards. The lessons instilled throughout her formative years have stayed with her into adulthood.

“Are you sure you need seconds, Abigail?” Her mother would ask.

Or, “This dress fit fine when we had it fitted. Now it’s so snug. We’ll put you on a diet, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

Or perhaps this from her father: “If you aren’t the top of your class, you’ll pay. Don’t make us look bad, Abigail.”

Tim wasn’t the first one to leave bruises on her skin. Abby’s own Mother had taught her how to flawlessly cover them up.

“Men naturally have tempers, my sweet girl.” Her Mother would say. “We must forgive them and continue to love them. They need our love.”

In spite of growing up in privilege, both parents having money to spare and living in the highest circles of society, Abby has always been very hard on herself. For her whole life Abby has been a people pleaser. First with her parents, namely her mom, then with Tim until she finally realized that there was no pleasing him and found the nerve to stand up to him.

She wonders if she will ever find the nerve to stand up to her parents.

Now, at thirty-nine years old, with her own successful career, Abby can still hear all her Mother’s criticisms in her head, especially now, especially today as she covers up her past failures and lifelong insecurities with concealer and a pale pink lip gloss that only partially hides the cut in her lip.

She has nowhere to be, nowhere to go, but she needs to catch up on work after missing several days since Tim’s attack. Some of her work will involve video chats.

Thinking that it might help her through her own anxieties and depression, Abigail had studied psychology at university. She saw it in the same way as a person reads a manual after opening a new appliance. You can’t know all the possibilities if you don’t know the ins and outs of the machine itself. Abby tried to understand the manual of her own mind.

It didn’t work. She’s still a mystery to herself and when she speaks to her clients, she feels like a fraud. How can a mess of a human being hope to help others? Is it okay for therapists to need therapy? They’re human too, after all.

Abigail Harper is painfully human. Imperfect. Flawed. Confused.

As Tim’s abuse grew more frequent, Abby quit her job at a local medical office and chose to work from home. Her brother, a programming wiz, helped her set up an online business. With his help, she set up one of the first online therapy groups called Some1Cares. What began with just Abby herself has grown into an extensive online network of therapists and those seeking therapy or just someone to talk to. While Abby is proud of what she started, she still feels like a fraud.

Her new apartment building is in the middle of Manhattan and she lives on the fourth floor. The bedroom and office are one and the same, a large room with a wall of windows facing the city. Her bed sits against the middle of one wall, flanked by nightstands. A corner desk holds her work and laptop and the rest of the bedroom furniture is spread around the room. There’s a wall of floor to ceiling windows in the living room as well, and the kitchen shares that space. There’s a bathroom connected to her bedroom. It’s simple, but it’s hers.

Dressed in cotton capris and a tasteful blouse, Abby sits down at her desk and opens her laptop. The next few hours are spent catching up with clients whether through video, text or voice chat. Given her situation with Tim, that was something Abby insisted on when she created Some1Cares, the option of voice and text chat rather than just video. It surprises her how many people prefer no video, but she’s also been very thankful for it on several occasions when she’s felt the need to hide her appearance.

When her sessions are done, she sees a ping from another therapist affiliated with Some1Cares. Kaden Forester isn’t just any therapist, he’s a friend and he’s Abigail’s personal therapist. He played a big part in helping Abby to find the strength to stand up for herself with Tim.

She slips on the video chat and smiles as his smiling face pops up on her screen. Kaden is from California, all the way across the country from Abby. He has sun bronzed skin and neatly cut dark blond hair.

“Hey, Abby.” Kaden says. “You missed your appointment on Tuesday. I tried to contact you. Everything alright?”

“Tuesday wasn’t a good day. Tim came by.”

Kaden’s brow furrows. “Your new apartment has locks even just to get into the building, yeah?”

“Yes, but he followed me in. He could have followed anyone in.” Abby proceeds to tell Kaden what happened three days ago, the horror of it, the dichotomy of Tim asking forgiveness even while he beat her. Her ex-husband calling her every name in the book as the police dragged him away.

“He’s still behind bars?”

Abby shakes her head. “No, his family paid his bail. I have my restraining order though. Finally.”

Kaden nods quietly for a long moment. “Sometimes the system is broken. It’s so damn frustrating, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Abby agrees. “There’s also nothing more I can do. I put new locks on the doors, new security system. I’m safe as can be as long as no one lets him into the building and I don’t let him into my apartment.”

“Have you thought about letting him in?”

“I have.” Abby answers honestly. “Just because… it’s complicated and sometimes I’m lonely and my parents both think I should have tried harder to work it out with him. All reasons I should ignore, which I’ve done so far.”

Kaden nods encouragingly. “You’ve done really good, Abby. I know how hard it can be and you’ve been so strong. You’ve grown so much so fast. I’m proud of you. Stay strong, okay? And if you need to talk, you know where to find me.”

The call ends and Abby begins to type out her notes from each session of the day. It’s always soothing to her to go back over the breakthroughs and the pitfalls of the day. It helps her to think each person through individually and consider each of them from a different angle.

Hours later a ping from her laptop makes her look up at the screen.

**S. Jacobs:** Hello, Ms. Harper.

A pit of nerves roils in her stomach at the sight of the new chat request from S. Jacobs. She stares at the screen for a long time before finally clicking the chat open and replying.

**Abby Harper:** Mr. Jacobs. How are you today?

**S. Jacobs:** I’m well, and you?

**Abby Harper:** It’s been a long week, but I’m okay. How are things with your brother?

**S. Jacobs:** I’d rather hear about what has made this week seem so long for you.

**Abby Harper:** I think you’ve hired me so that you would have someone to talk to, not the other way around.

**S. Jacobs:** I think that when I am ready to share, then I will. For now, I’m curious about you. As I am paying for our time, perhaps you could indulge me. What has made this week seem so long?

Abigail’s fingertips touch the diamond heart pendant at her throat, a charm her parents got her after she graduated salutatorian. She slides the pendant along the thin delicate chain back and forth, as she debates whether to share more with this client.

They’ve already crossed a line before.

When she pulls her bottom lip thoughtfully through her teeth, she feels the sting of her busted lip. It serves to jar her back into the present, away from the fresh memories of Tim slamming her to the floor and his fists flying at her.

**Abby Harper:** It’s just an expression.

**S. Jacobs:** Alright then, Abigail. Shall we pick up where we left off? What are you wearing?

Abby stares at the screen again, her heart having leapt up into her throat. She remembers only a week ago, a point during the last session of the day, a session that had turned into more of a casual chat than work, a session that had gone on long after the allotted hour S. Jacobs had paid for. She remembers seeing the line as they had approached it. She remembers pausing only briefly at that line before continuing on, lost in a moment of feeling seen and wanted, in spite of never having met Mr. Jacobs. She remembers one of the most intense orgasms of her life and the instant remorse over the act.

Yes, she and S. Jacobs have crossed a line before. It’s a line that should never be crossed again.

Abby leans in, her fingertips hovering over the laptop keyboard. A part of her wants to tell him what she’s wearing. A part of her wants to answer his questions about why this week has been hard. A part of her knows that it’s wrong.

**Abby Harper:** That was a mistake. Is there anything else on your mind, Mr. Jacobs?

**S. Jacobs:** If you prefer to call our time a mistake then I will abide it. However, perception makes all the difference in that regard, doesn’t it, Ms. Harper?

**Abby Harper:** What do you mean?

**S. Jacobs:** Your subsequent guilt aside, did you enjoy our last conversation?

**Abby Harper:** Yes.

**S. Jacobs:** As did I. Did our last conversation make you feel good?

**Abby Harper:** Yes.

**S. Jacobs:** It did me as well. I ask you, what is the harm in that?

What is the harm? The harm is that she tossed all of her professional acumen aside for a moment of connection and pleasure. It isn’t something she’s ever done before. It isn’t something she did lightly. She wishes it hadn’t happened.

She also can’t deny that she enjoyed it while it was happening.

A lengthy amount of time passes while Abby stares at the screen before she receives another message from Mr. Jacobs.

**S. Jacobs:** Now, I will repeat my question. What are you wearing, Abigail?


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail Harper has been through the ringer, both physically and emotionally. She's scratched and clawed her way into a new chapter of her life. Insert the mysterious S. Jacobs and the neatly ordered world of that new chapter isn't so easily maintained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS:  
> This fic will be a slow burn and is liable to eventually get very dark and twisted as most of my writing does. (I do try to put things back together in the end though!)
> 
> I update tags with every chapter if needed. Please watch the warning tags as it progresses for anything that might understandably trigger you.

By the time Friday rolls around again, Abby has had a full week to think about what she’s been a part of with S. Jacobs… twice now. And this week, there were only minor bumps in the road to take her headspace out of it.

Tim only contacted her once, through a text with two simple words: I’m sorry.

Abby didn’t respond.

While she was married to Tim, her life had progressively become smaller and smaller until she was virtually a shut-in. She can’t put all the blame on her ex-husband. She did allow it to happen, after all. She did make choice after choice that walled her into the small house that she and Tim had shared.

The only difference now is that Tim is gone. The new apartment has her name on the lease and only one memory of Tim is from just over a week ago. Abby is still walled inside with no real reason to leave her apartment.

She orders her groceries and take-out deliveries. She has a top loading laundry in one of the closets. There’s no reason for her to go out, and that was by design while she was in an abusive marriage. Now, when there’s no reason for her to be cloistered away, she maintains her solitude if just because it’s familiar and safe.

Even though the catalyst to her horror is gone, that doesn’t mean the horror itself is gone. Trauma’s shadow can be lengthy, dark and oppressive. That shadow hangs over Abby like the smoky din of a packed bar.

The nightmares are vivid and cruel. Sometimes she still gets lost in her thoughts, reliving all that she endured with Tim even in the daytime. When she does find the rare need to go out, she wonders if everyone she passes knows about how long it took her to stand up for herself. She feels like the words ‘victim of abuse’ or ‘congenial punching bag’ are emblazoned across her forehead.

Again, the shame of not doing something sooner keeps her hidden away.

Random people don’t know, of course. Logically, Abby knows that much to be true.

You can never tell the baggage that a person is carrying around. Some of her old friends might have a clue, but she’s cut herself off from most of them as well. Her parents, well of course they know, and of course they think she should have tried harder. Now she has the stain of divorce attached to her name, their name.

It’s easier to stay inside, walled off from the rest of the world, her parents included.

It’s also easy to let thoughts of S. Jacobs fill her mind to keep herself from reverting to reliving her past with Tim over and over again.

After going through her entire client list for the day, after speaking with Kaden again, Abby sets to work taking her notes from the day’s sessions. She knows that she has one more session tonight, the same one she’s had every Friday night for nine weeks. This time she’s determined to stick to the business of counseling.

Right on time at 8:00, her laptop comes to life with a chat ping. Mr. Jacobs is always punctual, every Friday night at eight. He’s never been early or late.

S. Jacobs: Ms. Harper, how are you this evening?

Abby sets her notes aside and responds.

**Abby Harper:** I’m good. Thanks for asking. How are you, Mr. Jacobs?

**S. Jacobs:** I’m weary of fools, Ms. Harper. I’m admittedly tired in general. However, I wouldn’t miss a meeting with you, for you are not a fool. In fact, you are quite the opposite.

**Abby Harper:** You can’t know that. But I’m trying not to be a fool anymore.

**S. Jacobs:** That implies that you were once a fool.

**Abby Harper:** I was. I think most people go through a fool phase, some worse and more often than others.

**S. Jacobs:** Perhaps you are right. I’m trying to think over my past for any phases such as that.

**Abby Harper:** If you’re perfect, Mr. Jacobs, then you are a unicorn.

**S. Jacobs:** I would never claim to be perfect. I might, however, be a unicorn.

A smile has formed on Abby’s lips and she tries to push it away. She shouldn’t get such joy out of a conversation with a client. Abby attempts to get them back on track.

**Abby Harper:** How are things with your brother?

**S. Jacobs:** He is a fool.

**Abby Harper:** Still strained, I see. Did you talk to him? Did you tell him your concerns?

**S. Jacobs:** I did, as per your advice. He refuses to see reason. He thinks that in lieu of the mere fact that he is older that he knows better, but he is reckless.

**Abby Harper:** Maybe you can temper his recklessness, two sides to the same coin.

**S. Jacobs:** I think if left to his own devices, he might destroy us all.

**Abby Harper:** Is it that bad?

**S. Jacobs:** It is.

**Abby Harper:** You have to stand up for yourself with him. If what he’s doing is dangerous to you, you can’t let him walk all over you.

She’s well aware of the pot, kettle, black moment she’s having. Again, she feels like a fraud, like she doesn’t fit in the skin she’s wearing.

**S. Jacobs:** Rest assured, no one walks all over me. No one walks over me, period, unless I allow them to do so. Would you like to walk over me, Ms. Harper, and would you wear a skirt when you do it?

The familiar nerves start bubbling in her stomach. This is always how it starts with him, light flirting, sexual innuendos. Should she be offended? Maybe. Why isn’t she offended?

**Abby Harper:** I don’t think that’s my place.

**S. Jacobs:** I would counter that if you are congenial to the idea, then your place is wherever I want you to be.

Abby stares at the screen, her fingertips hovering over the keyboard. Before she can think of a reply, the dots begin to oscillate to show that he’s typing again.

**S. Jacobs:** Are you married, Ms. Harper?

**Abby Harper:** No. Are you?

**S. Jacobs:** No, although I am sexually active. It’s just sex, not a relationship. May I confess something?

**Abby Harper:** Yes.

**S. Jacobs:** I did some research on you, partly because you’re my therapist and partly because I’m interested in you. I found that you are married, no children.

**Abby Harper:** If it makes you feel better to know more about your therapist, then I understand. Some people like the anonymity of Some1Cares and others want to know who they’re talking to. I was married. I’m recently divorced.

**S. Jacobs:** How recent?

**Abby Harper:** Just over a month.

**S. Jacobs:** That is recent. So when you say you have been a fool, were you implying that your failed marriage is what has made you the fool?

**Abby Harper:** Yes, that’s one area where I was very much the fool.

**S. Jacobs:** Did he cheat on you?

**Abby Harper:** No.

**S. Jacobs:** How, then, were you a fool?

**Abby Harper:** I stayed with him longer than I should have.

For a long time the screen is unmoving. There is no reply. The dots don’t appear to show that Mr. Jacobs is typing a message. There’s nothing. Finally, Abby begins typing.

**Abby Harper:** It was an unhealthy relationship, but it’s over now. We all come across unhealthy relationships now and then, sometimes more often than we would like. Sometimes we’re even born into them. You and your brother, for instance.

**S. Jacobs:** Timothy James McCullough. You don’t share his last name.

Abby stares at her ex-husband’s full name on the screen for a moment before replying.

**Abby Harper:** I did. I always kept my name too. While I was married to him, I was Abby Harper-McCullough. Now I’m back to Abby Harper. How did you get his name?

**S. Jacobs:** Knowledge is power.

**Abby Harper:** And you like power?

**S. Jacobs:** I do.

**Abby Harper:** Right now your brother has the power?

**S. Jacobs:** Right now my brother has some power. Time will tell whether I allow him to keep it.

A glance at the clock shows their time narrowing down. It doesn’t feel like it’s been close to an hour, and yet time is one of the few constants in the world. Maybe she can get out of this session with some dignity.

**Abby Harper:** Your hour is almost up. Is there anything else you’d like to talk about?

**S. Jacobs:** I want to keep talking to you – past the hour.

**Abby Harper:** I thought you were tired.

**S. Jacobs:** I am. I still want to continue talking to you. You are not a burden or a hardship to me, Ms. Harper.

Those words are like a warm blanket to Abby. While her professional status might be in question, maybe her dignity is still intact with Mr. Jacobs.

**Abby Harper:** What would you like to talk about?

**S. Jacobs:** Have you thought about our last two sessions this week?

**Abby Harper:** Yes. I’ve thought about how it shouldn’t happen again.

**S. Jacobs:** What else have you thought about?

Somehow, he reads her like she’s standing right in front of him. She’s thought about many things: about how wrong this is but how right it feels, about how good he makes her feel, about the way he’s restarted areas of her body, mind and soul that have long laid dormant.

It isn’t right. She knows it isn’t right. And yet…

**Abby Harper:** I don’t know what you mean.

**S. Jacobs:** Yes, Ms. Harper, you do. What are you wearing?

**Abby Harper:** Cotton shorts and a tank top. What are you wearing?

It’s the first time Abby has reciprocated the question and it makes her nerves skyrocket to do so. She’s curious though. Who is S. Jacobs?

**S. Jacobs:** I’m in a dress shirt and slacks. Are you wearing a bra?

**Abby Harper:** Yes.

**S. Jacobs:** Describe all of it to me.

**Abby Harper:** It’s a white tank top. The shorts are pale pink striped. My bra is cotton and white. I’m afraid I’m not very exciting today.

**S. Jacobs:** Perspective.

He doesn’t need to say anything more to let her know that he thinks she’s exciting. Abby doesn’t know why that’s so thrilling.

**S. Jacobs:** My suit was gray today with black pinstripes. The shirt is white and the necktie that I’ve since freed myself from was black. Dress shoes, black.

**Abby Harper:** It sounds very nice.

**S. Jacobs:** Thank you. Now, take your bra off.

Maybe it’s because she’s already done this twice already, but Abby only hesitates for a fraction of a second before she reaches back beneath the tank top to unclasp the hooks and then pull her arms through the straps. The bra is dropped to the floor beside her desk chair.

**Abby Harper:** It’s off.

**S. Jacobs:** Very good. Spread your legs. I want one hand down those cute little shorts you’re wearing, inside your panties, which I presume you are wearing, touching yourself how you like to be touched.

**Abby Harper:** Do you touch yourself too? I mean, when you’re asking me to touch myself, do you do it too?

**S. Jacobs:** First, I’m not asking. Second, do you want me to touch myself as well?

Another thrill races through Abby at that and she knows she’s heading further down the rabbit hole with Mr. Jacobs when she types back.

**Abby Harper:** Yes, I want you to.

**S. Jacobs:** Turn on voice type. Touch yourself, Abigail.

Once she’s toggled the chat to voice recognition, Abby spreads her legs and slips her hand down into her shorts. Her fingers push between warm folds to reach her clit. She’s always been different from most of her girlfriends, receiving the most stimulation from outside rather than inside. She used to think she was deficient in some way. Age and research have taught her differently. Different strokes for different folks, pun intended.

“I’m touching myself.” She watches her words appear in the chat.

**S. Jacobs:** As am I, Ms. Harper.

Abby tries to picture it, a faceless, voiceless man in a white dress shirt. He said his tie was gone, so the top button is probably undone, maybe the top two. Was he wearing a belt? Did he pull his pants down or is his hand just down his pants like hers is with her shorts? He’s always directed everything with her. She’s never reciprocated.

“Are you wearing a belt?” She decides to ask, wanting the full visual. His reply appears on the screen beneath her words.

**S. Jacobs:** I am. It’s undone. My fly is open. My hand is down my pants. Does that help, Abigail?

“Yes.” She pushes two fingers up inside herself but immediately pulls them back out to roll the pads against her clit, against the bunch of nerves just above where she’s always so quick to orgasm. “How many buttons are undone on your shirt?

**S. Jacobs:** Two. Do you want more?

“Yes. All of them.” Abby answers quickly, her voice breathy and short. “I’m close.”

**S. Jacobs:** Wait for me.

Abby slides the pad of her thumb back down to her clit and pushes a finger inside, slowing and waiting.

**S. Jacobs:** Shirt is open. Is there anything else you want, Abigail?

“No, I…” She can’t help it. The moment her fingers touch her most sensitive areas again, she feels it. The pause is long enough that the chat sends only that response through. Abby is leaning back in her chair, her body taut through her orgasm.

Several moments later, when she breathlessly sits back up and looks at the screen, she sees Mr. Jacobs’s response.

**S. Jacobs:** (laughter) One moment, Ms. Harper.

Abby smiles, wiping her fingers off on the hem of her tank top. She pushes her hair back behind her ears before she turns off voice recognition and her fingers find the keyboard again.

**Abby Harper:** Sorry. It just happened.

Time passes, one minute, then two. Finally, the dots begin oscillating to show that he’s typing again.

**S. Jacobs:** Are you pleased, Ms. Harper?

**Abby Harper:** Yes. Are you?

**S. Jacobs:** Very. Do your fingers smell like sex?

**Abby Harper:** Yes.

**S. Jacobs:** I want to meet with you more than once a week. I’m afraid that I might need more therapy than I had presumed.

**Abby Harper:** That isn’t usually how it works.

**S. Jacobs:** Is that what we are, Abigail? Are we usual?

**Abby Harper:** No, I guess we aren’t.

**S. Jacobs:** No, we aren’t usual at all. I’ll be in touch.

**Abby Harper:** Okay. This doesn’t usually happen. I mean, I’ve never done anything like this before.

**S. Jacobs:** I should hope not. I’m pleased to be the first, and dare I say honored as well.

The guilt always hits her after they play like this. They’ve done it three times now and each time, once the act is over, she begins to feel ashamed of herself. She begins backpedaling, as if it could make a difference after the fact.

**Abby Harper:** I just didn’t want you to think that it’s something I do. I don’t want you to think I’m… to think less of me, I guess?

**S. Jacobs:** That would never happen. We are both consenting adults.

**Abby Harper:** But you came to me for help.

**S. Jacobs:** And I’m getting it, and surprisingly more.

**Abby Harper:** Okay.

**S. Jacobs:** Sweet dreams, Ms. Harper.

**Abby Harper:** Goodnight Mr. Jacobs.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail Harper has been through the ringer, both physically and emotionally. She's scratched and clawed her way into a new chapter of her life. Insert the mysterious S. Jacobs and the neatly ordered world of that new chapter isn't so easily maintained.

The first time S. Jacobs had appeared on her docket, Abby had gone into the session like any other. He had specifically requested an evening appointment any day from Friday to Sunday. Abby took that to mean that he works odd hours during the week but is free on the weekends.

Some1Cares has people to listen at any hour, but clients are also able to request a certain therapist should one catch their eye after reading the multitude of bios on the website. Each therapist also has certain hours in which they are available. Abby’s had been nine to five, Monday through Friday.

The request from Mr. Jacobs had come directly to Abby, which means he requested her specifically. The fact that his request was outside of her usual hours had almost made her decline his request. She can’t say what exactly made her accept his request in the end. As she had looked over his short and concise answers to the questionnaire, something had jumped out at her, something had pulled at her heartstrings.

 **Screen name:** S. Jacobs  
 **Type of service:** Text chat  
 **Have you ever sought counseling before?** No.  
 **Have you ever had suicidal thoughts?** No.  
 **Reason for contacting Some1Cares:** I need someone to care.

He needed someone to care. What a simple answer to an ofttimes not so simple question. Abby can relate to needing someone to care. Adjusting to a party of one after being a party of two for years has been difficult. She gets so lonely sometimes. Sometimes she feels absolutely invisible, a non-entity.

The appointment was set up for the following Friday at eight o’clock in the evening.

 **Abby Harper** S. Jacobs, I’m glad you’re here. How are you today?

 **S. Jacobs:** I find myself on unsteady ground and I will admit that I don’t like feeling unsteady.

 **Abby Harper:** Unsteady in what way?

 **S. Jacobs** Therapy. It’s uncomfortable. And quite possibly a waste of my time.

 **Abby Harper:** We’ll hope that it’s not a waste of your time, S. Jacobs. Why don’t you start by telling me what brought you to Some1Cares?

 **S. Jacobs:** I’ve been told I’ve been lashing out as of late, that I need help.

 **Abby Harper:** Is that true? Have you been lashing out?

 **S. Jacobs:** I suppose so. I lost my Mother recently and she was the only one who ever truly cared about me. I never had to question her love as I do with anyone else.

 **Abby Harper:** I’m sorry she’s gone. You were very close to her.

 **S. Jacobs:** I was. Her absence has left a great void. I think it has magnified how truly alone I am. Surrounded by people, but alone.

It had been easy for Abby to relate. Before she’d become a shut-in, as Tim’s abuse had escalated, Abby had felt increasingly alone at work, with her friends and family, so alone.

 **Abby Harper:** That’s a feeling I can understand well. Loneliness can be suffocating, can’t it?

 **S. Jacobs:** Absolutely stifling. Is Abby short for Abigail?

 **Abby Harper:** Yes, it is.

 **S. Jacobs:** I think Abigail is a beautiful name. Abigail Harper is a beautiful name.

Abby finds herself smiling at the sweet, simplistic compliment.

 **Abby Harper:** Thank you. Would you like to share your name?

 **S. Jacobs:** You may call me Mr. Jacobs.

 **Abby Harper:** Mr. Jacobs, the loss of something or someone that once filled our lives with such love and joy can leave a void, like you said. The good news is that while we never stop missing what we’ve lost, eventually the void isn’t so fresh and painful. Think of it like a wound that has to scab over and eventually heal. Eventually, the void isn’t so glaring and full of hurt. Eventually we make room for other things.

 **S. Jacobs:** My wound is very fresh.

 **Abby Jacobs:** Yes, I think it is. You’re feeling the loss very deeply right now and that’s okay. Allow yourself to feel it. There’s no timeline on grief. Everyone goes through it at their own pace, in their own time. As for your lashing out, if it’s a new thing for you then I suspect it’s a part of your grieving process.

The three dots that indicate a message is being typed start and stop several times, which wither means a long message is incoming or the typist is doing a lot of typing and backspacing. Abby waits him out.

 **S. Jacobs:** I worry that I’m turning into my father.

Typing and backspacing it is.

 **Abby Harper:** Did he have a temper?

 **S. Jacobs:** He had no patience for stupidity. My patience wears thin more and more quickly.

 **Abby Harper:** Sometimes that can come with age. Everyone changes over time as they get older. But again, I think it could also be a part of your mourning the loss of someone who was very important to you.

 **S. Jacobs:** Do you still have your parents, Ms. Harper?

 **Abby Harper:** Yes, I do.

 **S. Jacobs:** Are you close to them?

Abby hesitates. It isn’t often that clients reciprocate questions, personal questions. On top of that, her parents are a difficult subject.

 **Abby Harper:** My parents and I are complicated.

 **S. Jacobs:** How so?

 **Abby Harper:** They expected perfection and it took me well into my adult years to realize that perfection is a myth. No human on this Earth is perfect.

 **S. Jacobs:** So you are not close to them.

 **Abby Harper:** I try to keep my distance from them unless I literally can’t avoid it because they tend to get in my head about things. Distancing myself from their negative influence is self-care. Do you practice any self-care, Mr. Jacobs?

 **S. Jacobs:** I think I’m doing it right now, Ms. Harper. Do you have any siblings?

 **Abby Harper:** I have an older brother and we are very close. Do you have siblings?

 **S. Jacobs:** I have an older brother as well. He tests my patience. It would seem that we are opposite in this regard. I was close to my parents, and you are not. You are close to your brother and I am not.

 **Abby Harper:** I think a different perspective is a welcome thing when it comes to Some1Cares. Don’t you? You’re proof that not all parents are cruel. I’m proof that it’s possible to get along with siblings.

 **S. Jacobs:** Were they cruel to you? Your parents.

 **Abby Harper:** I think they had high expectations that I struggled to meet. Is there anything else that you would like to talk about? We’ve been chatting for almost an hour.

 **S. Jacobs:** An hour goes by so quickly.

 **Abby Harper:** Sometimes it does seem that way, doesn’t it? Do you still feel like the ground is unsteady?

 **S. Jacobs:** No, it is quite solid now. Color me pleasantly surprised. Thank you, Ms. Harper.

 **Abby Harper:** I’m glad to hear it.

 **S. Jacobs:** I would like to schedule another appointment, Ms. Harper. Same time next week?

Another Friday night taken up by work. At that point in time Abby was happy to fill in the space given how horrible Tim had been since she filed for divorce. She opened her calendar and filled in the slot.

 **Abby Harper:** 8pm, next Friday. It’s been scheduled.

 **S. Jacobs:** Thank you, Ms. Harper. Until then.

She had done so well with those first few sessions. Abby really thought she had been helping him, which, maybe she had. Several times along the way, he’d wedeled personal things out of her as well. Somewhere along the way it started to sometimes feel less like she was his therapist and more like a budding friendship. Somewhere along the way, professional boundaries started to get blurry until that first time he had asked what she was wearing.

A line was crossed.

That line has now been crossed three times.

***

“Hey Abs.”

Abby watches her older brother walk into her apartment, surprised at his sudden visit. He knows her well. Given any amount of notice, Abby can always find a way to bow out of a situation where she has to be around other people.

She shuts the door and locks it, turning to face him as he looks around the place. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

“You have a new apartment. I came to see it… and you.” Jeffery Harper goes into her bedroom and bathroom to look and then walks back out into the living room.

While Abby is almost a younger clone of their Mother, Jeff resembles their Father if you took away all of the elder Harper’s meanness. Jeff has a rugged handsomeness about him, but still somehow maintains an edge of softness and genuine kindness that their father doesn’t have.

As Jeff returns to the main room, what Abby notices is that the suit he’s wearing is gray, the pinstripes on it white, not black. She tries to push away thoughts of Mr. Jacobs.

“It’s nice.” Jeff says.

“Thanks. My favorite thing about it is that it’s mine.” Abby smiles.

Jeff’s smile looks just like hers and he comes in with his arms spread to envelope her in a tight embrace. He kisses the top of her head. “So, our Father got wind of a certain police report… from about a week ago. You know he has spies everywhere.”

Abby pulls back and looks up at her brother. “And?”

“And… I think you’re still really good at putting on makeup.” Jeff says, obviously inspecting her face. “Father said his usual shit, but I was worried about you. So…”

Their parents weren’t just hard on Abby. They were hard on Jeff too. That shared experience has bonded them for life. While Jeff still frequently talks to their parents, Abby doesn’t. Sometimes Abby thinks that the only reason he’s still talking to their parents is so that she doesn’t have to. Jeff is the buffer between them and Abby is forever grateful for that.

They settle on the couch in Abby’s living room and Abby tells him what happened when Tim came by. She’s so tired of talking about Tim. At the same time, she’s never withheld anything from her brother.

“That fucking asshole.” Jeff shakes his head. “I wanna punch him in the face… again.”

“And mess up your manicure? Brendon would be so disappointed.” She says of her brother’s secret boyfriend that their parents know nothing about.

Jeff turns his grin on her. “Yeah, you know he would be. He’d also get over it if I told him why I messed up my manicure.”

“How is he?” she asks.

“He’s as lovely as ever. Honestly, Abs… I’ve never felt this kind of love. It’s pure, you know? He loves me even when I’m an asshole.” Jeff’s tone has taken on the dreaminess that it always does when he talks to her about Brendon. “I wish you had a Brendon. I wish you’d never had a Tim.”

Abby takes her brother’s hand. “I love you, big brother. You deserve your Brendon.”

“You deserve one too.” He gently squeezes her hand. “I worry about you, all alone, the way you’ve holed yourself up even a month out from being married to that asshole. Maybe you should come out with me sometime, meet some new people.”

She shakes her head. “I’m okay with how things are right now. I just need… me time. I have to figure out who I am without…”

“I get it.” Jeff stands up and embraces her again when she joins him. Then they move toward the door. “At least get a dog or a cat or something.”

“Putting me in charge of the life of another living thing isn’t the best idea, trust me.” Abby jokes. “Are… how are the parental units these days?”

“Still kicking. Still judgmental as fuck.” Jeff shrugs. “They still have a lot to say about you and Tim. I think it’s good that you stick to your side of the city for a while until they cool down about having a daughter who’s divorced.”

Abby nods. “I assumed that would be the case, and that it’ll be the case for some time.”

“Why do you think they’ll never know that I have a Brendon? I’ll come out of the closet when they’re dead.” Jeff kisses Abby’s brow. “Hey, you and me. Partners in crime for life, right?”

“Right. For life.” Abby answers as she unlocks and opens the door for her brother. “Tell Brendon I said hi and give him a big hug from me to him for making you so happy.”

“I will.” Jeff says. “And text me back when I text you. Sometimes the memes I send you are hilarious, and you don’t even laugh. It’s like meme’ing into the void.”

Abby laughs then and shakes her head. “They’re so ridiculous.” A look from him makes her nod in concession. “I’ll text back.”

“Good. When you don’t text I worry, Abs.” Jeff starts toward the elevator, calling behind him. “Don’t give your brother worry lines!”

“I’ll try not to!”

Abby waits until the elevator has closed on the image of her brother making a heart shape at her with his hands, then she closes and locks the door.

By the time she’s finished off a light dinner, it’s almost eight. Mr. Jacobs said he wanted to talk to her more often. She rushes to her laptop and flips it open. As she waits, she scrolls through some social media on her phone. She waits, playing a game on her phone. She decides to work out on the treadmill without headphones on so she can hear if her laptop pings. She takes a quick shower afterward and finds no waiting chat when she checks again.

Mr. Jacobs must be busy tonight.

It’s almost midnight when Abby finally shuts everything down and crawls into bed. It’s hard not to feel disappointment. She’s disappointed in herself for looking forward to the chat that didn’t happen. She’s even more disappointed that she didn’t hear from S. Jacobs at all.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail Harper has been through the ringer, both physically and emotionally. She's scratched and clawed her way into a new chapter of her life. Insert the mysterious S. Jacobs and the neatly ordered world of that new chapter isn't so easily maintained.
> 
> WARNINGS:  
> This fic will be a slow burn and is liable to eventually get very dark and twisted as most of my writing does. (I do try to put things back together in the end though!)
> 
> I update tags with every chapter if needed. Please watch the warning tags as it progresses for anything that might understandably trigger you.

Despite the disappointment of the night before, Abby can’t help the way her attention lingers on her laptop every night around eight o’clock. She goes through her days with ease, seeing clients and then typing out her notes. The evenings are increasingly more difficult than the days.

She works out. She starts reading a new novel on her kindle. She takes long, hot bubble baths. She learns to cook a new recipe she found on Pinterest.

Still, she’s drawn to her laptop to check for any new chats waiting for her.

Saturday, Sunday, Monday and Tuesday pass with nothing from S. Jacobs and by Wednesday she’s still disappointed, but she’s also almost relieved. Deep down, she knows that she never should have crossed that line with him. It’s wrong.

She reminds herself of his words on his initial application: I need someone to care.

That’s what he needs. That’s what Abby should be giving him. Everything else is games, games that they’re both culpable in, but still games. Mr. Jacobs’s mental health is not a game.

Thursday she’s soaking in a hot bath when she hears her laptop ping. A look at her phone reads 8:00 pm and it’s almost embarrassing how quickly she rushes out of the water and wraps a towel around herself to get to her laptop. She leaves a trail of watery footprints on the tiled floor from her bathroom to her corner desk. A swipe of her fingertip over the mousepad wakes her laptop up.

 **S. Jacobs:** Are you free, Ms. Harper?

She clicks on the chat to open it and knows that the moment she starts typing, the dots will cycle in the chat on his screen and show him that she’s typing. 

“This is not a game.” She whispers to herself.

 **Abby Harper:** I’m here, Mr. Jacobs. How are you today?

 **S. Jacobs:** I’ll be much better if you assure me that you have some time on your hands.

 **Abby Harper:** Oh, most of my evenings are free.

The moment she hits send she cringes at the offered information. She’s quick to start typing again.

 **Abby Harper:** Is there anything you’d like to talk about, Mr. Jacobs?

 **S. Jacobs:** Suddenly I have the strongest desire to talk about you and your free evenings. Do you not have friends you go out with? No dating prospects?

 **Abby Harper:** Aren’t we here to talk about you?

 **S. Jacobs:** Perhaps, yes, but I’ve grown to enjoy following the conversation wherever it might take us. Answer my questions, please.

Abby presses her lips together thoughtfully and steels herself. This is not a game.

 **Abby Harper:** I think… I think we should talk about your relationship with your parents. I’d like to know more about them if you don’t mind.

 **S. Jacobs:** I don’t mind at all. Shall we have a conversation about our parents then, Ms. Harper?

There is no part of Abby that wants to get into a conversation about her parents. Mr. Jacobs is so good at twisting her words, at warping the conversation to fit his will and his way.

 **Abby Harper:** No, I meant your parents and yours alone.

 **S. Jacobs:** You first, Ms. Harper.

Abby stares at the screen, at a loss. This is what she’s been looking forward to all week until she didn’t get it for days. Now it’s here and it’s going all wrong.

 **Abby Harper:** I’m trying to do the right thing here.

 **S. Jacobs:** You’ve been overthinking us. I promised more time and then gave you too much time to think. I take full responsibility for that. Life intervened as it so often does.

Life intervened. He just gave her an opening and Abby is quick to step into it.

 **Abby Harper:** Is everything okay? With life, I mean.

 **S. Jacobs:** I want you to answer my questions from before and then I will answer yours.

Abby sighs at the prospect of giving a little to get a little. She steels herself and begins to type again.

 **Abby Harper:** I don’t really talk to my friends anymore, except for one who’s stubbornly hung on through everything. He lives in another state though, so we don’t get to go out, we just call and text. There’s my brother, but he has his own life. And if you’ll remember, I’m newly divorced.

 **S. Jacobs:** What happened between you and your friends?

 **Abby Harper:** My ex-husband happened.

 **S. Jacobs:** They didn’t care for him?

 **Abby Harper:** They knew how he treated me, or how I let him treat me.

 **S. Jacobs:** Was he violent?

 **Abby Harper:** Yes.

 **S. Jacobs:** And your friends left you? I’m afraid that you did not have very good friends.

 **Abby Harper:** Maybe not.

 **S. Jacobs:** You have no desire to get out and make new friends? To date?

 **Abby Harper:** No.

 **S. Jacobs:** Are you afraid?

 **Abby Harper:** I guess so. Do you go out and meet new people?

 **S. Jacobs:** New people come to meet me. And in that, I suppose that you are the exception as I was the one who found you.

 **Abby Harper:** Yes, you found me. I want to help you if I can. If I can no longer help you, I think we need to stop this.

 **S. Jacobs:** Were you anticipating me since last Friday? Did I let you down, Abigail? It was not my intention. If there were an 8pm when I could have been here, I would have.

 **Abby Harper:** It’s like you didn’t even read what I typed, Mr. Jacobs. How can I help you?

 **S. Jacobs** You can help me by continuing this with me.

 **Abby Harper:** What is this?

 **S. Jacobs:** Therapy, so I’m told.

 **Abby Harper:** Therapists should not have relationships with their patients.

 **S. Jacobs:** Do not call me a patient, Ms. Harper.

 **Abby Harper:** A client, then. It’s wrong.

 **S. Jacobs:** Perhaps we could continue to talk outside of your work.

Once again, Abby stares at the screen. That suggestion isn’t something she had anticipated. He wants to continue to chat outside of Some1Cares?

 **Abby Harper:** Why?

 **S. Jacobs:** Because I both look forward to and enjoy the time that you give me. Because I think that you enjoy our time as well. Because I want to keep talking to you and I’m accustomed to getting what I want.

How he can be both sweet and unnerving at the same time is beyond her. Abby stands up and paces the room, only then realizing she’s still in a towel. She goes to her bathroom and combs out her damp hair. She puts her towel on a hook and wraps herself in a white silken robe.

All the while she hears her laptop pinging at her.

 **S. Jacobs:** Abigail?

 **S. Jacobs:** You don’t have to answer now if you need time to think about it. I have been honest with you and I feel that you have been honest with me. I hope that you can also be honest with yourself. I know that you want to keep talking to me.

 **S. Jacobs:** I will say goodnight then, and hope to find you free at another eight o’clock. In fact, we still have an appointment tomorrow night. I will see you then.

He’s right. Tomorrow is Friday, the day of their usual appointment. He’s penciled into her calendar.

Abby sighs and closes her laptop. She’s sad that he logged off. She’s also relieved.

For as much as she’d anticipated a conversation with Mr. Jacobs all week, for as much as she’d scolded herself over that anticipation, one thing had turned out to be very true. This is not a game.

***

It’s nearing eight o’clock the next day. Abby is both anticipating and dreading a conversation with Mr. Jacobs. Her day has gone smoothly so far, as most of her Fridays do. Right on time, no sooner and no later than eight o’clock, a ping sounds at her laptop.

Abby sets her salad aside and opens the chat.

 **S. Jacobs:** Hello, Ms. Harper.

 **Abby Harper:** Hello, Mr. Jacobs. How are you today?

 **S. Jacobs:** Unsettled.

 **Abby Harper:** Is there anything I can do to help with that?

 **S. Jacobs:** I believe that you are the only one who can help. I’m unsatisfied with how we left things between us last night. I’d like to try to make it better.

 **Abby Harper:** How would you make it better, Mr. Jacobs?

 **S. Jacobs:** I propose that you are no longer in my employ. I propose that we are starting to build a friendship. What do you think of that?

 **Abby Harper:** Why?

 **S. Jacobs:** Because I think we both need someone to care.

Of all the reasons why that he could have given, that one is probably the most poignant. It harkens back to the beginning, back to the reason she’d said yes to the session with S. Jacobs in the first place. It’s so simple. It’s so relatable.

Abby draws in a deep breath and then nods, even though he can’t see it. She does want someone who isn’t related to her to care.

 **S. Jacobs:** I care about you, Abigail Harper. Do you care about me?

Does she care about him outside of Some1Cares? She slowly types out the three-letter word and hits send.

 **Abby Harper:** Yes.

 **S. Jacobs:** Therein lies the answer to why.

 **Abby Harper:** Okay. But I feel awful. I think you really needed me to be a better therapist than I was to you. You deserved for me to be better.

 **S. Jacobs:** I still need you. Why do you think that I’m trying so hard to keep talking to you? What I deserve is another matter entirely. Take a few deep breaths and don’t feel awful. Instead, feel excited about a new friendship.

 **Abby Harper:** Okay. I’ll try to be excited.

 **S. Jacobs:** Now, I’d like for you do something for me.

 **Abby Harper:** What is that?

 **S. Jacobs** Change your screen name to Abigail Harper.

Abby finds herself smirking.

 **Abby Harper:** Really?

 **S. Jacobs:** That name is what drew me to you in the first place. I’ve become quite fond of the name Abigail.

Abby rolls her eyes to the ceiling and opens the settings on the chat to make the changes.

 **Abigail Harper:** Better?

 **S. Jacobs:** Much better. Thank you, Ms. Harper. I’m relieved to still have you to talk to.

 **Abigail Harper:** Don’t you have friends, Mr. Jacobs? Don’t tell me you’re a shut-in like I am.

 **S. Jacobs:** No, I am not a shut-in. However, everyone around me wants something from me. Perhaps we are friends, perhaps we are not. It all feels calculated. Talking with you does not feel calculated. Are you a shut-in, Ms. Harper?

 **Abigail Harper:** By most people’s standards, yes. I’m a shut-in. What do the people around you want from you?

 **S. Jacobs:** Money. Power. Clout.

 **Abigail Harper:** Are you famous?

 **S. Jacobs:** In some circles, yes. What are you wearing, Ms. Harper?

 **Abigail Harper:** A wrap dress. It’s a pastel yellow color. What are you wearing, Mr. Jacobs?

 **S. Jacobs:** Your dress sounds very pretty. I’m wearing another suit. This one is dark grey with no pinstripes. Black dress shoes. An olive toned dress shirt and a black tie. Is your hair still the dark copper color?

 **Abigail Harper:** How do you know the color of my hair?

 **S. Jacobs:** I told you that I did some research. Your father is quite well known in the right circles as well.

 **Abigail Harper:** Yes, he is.

 **S. Jacobs:** Any photo of you that’s easily accessible is from years ago. I found one in an archive of Yale class of 1999. Salutatorian, Abigail Helena Harper. You look so young. Are those freckles?

 **Abigail Harper:** Yes, my hair is still auburn and I have freckles. It seems unfair that I don’t know your name or what you look like.

 **S. Jacobs:** I am not in any public record that would put me in as good a light as I would wish for you to see me.

 **Abigail Harper:** But you said you were famous.

 **S. Jacobs:** In some circles. I like the freckles. Your parents look proud.

 **Abigail Harper:** They’re good at putting on a show. I should have been valedictorian and they were sure to let me know it.

 **S. Jacobs:** Salutatorian at Yale, it’s nothing to scoff at.

 **Abigail Harper:** I’m proud of it now. Back then I felt like a failure because I had them in my ear telling me that’s what I was. Now, I know that it’s nothing to scoff at. Plus, I’m still good friends with the guy who beat me out for the valedictorian spot. He’s the one friend I told you about, the one who hung on even though I tried to push him away along with everyone else.

 **S. Jacobs:** He sounds like a very good friend.

 **Abigail Harper:** He is. It’s just sad that he moved away. He still calls now and then. You really have no friends like that?

 **S. Jacobs:** No, I do not. How tall are you?

 **Abigail Harper:** 5’5. You?

 **S. Jacobs:** 6’1. May I ask a more personal question?

 **Abigail Harper:** Yes.

 **S. Jacobs:** Why did you and your ex-husband never have children?

It’s a question that Abby didn’t expect and for a moment it takes her out of the conversation with Mr. Jacobs to the memory of an emergency room, her tears, Tim’s apologies. She blinks and shakes her head.

It’s okay. She said he could ask.

 **Abigail Harper:** I was pregnant once. I lost the baby. I fell and hurt and lost the baby. So then, I got an IUD without telling my husband. I couldn’t go through that again.

 **S. Jacobs:** When you say you fell, I presume he had something to do with it?

 **Abigail Harper:** You presume right.

 **S. Jacobs:** I’m sorry Abigail. No one should ever have lifted a hand to you in a violent manner, much less when you were bearing his child.

 **Abigail Harper:** Is there any other way to be hit than in a violent manner?

 **S. Jacobs:** Of course there is. If done correctly it can be quite arousing. I don’t feel that this is the conversation for that though, not after what you’ve just confided to me.

Mr. Jacobs has made her mind do a one-eighty from where she’d been. Her imagination suddenly fills with images of a faceless man in a suit slapping her, of being bent over his thighs while he spanks her. What, exactly, is he talking about?

 **S. Jacobs:** It’s been over a month since you’ve had sex.

 **Abigail Harper:** Yes, I guess so. It’s okay. I tuned out of it with my ex a long time ago.

 **S. Jacobs:** Meaning you turned to self-pleasure, even while you were still with him.

 **Abigail Harper:** Yes.

 **S. Jacobs:** Very good, Ms. Harper. An act of defiance, no matter how small, is still an act of defiance.

 **Abigail Harper:** Is that what it was?

 **S. Jacobs:** Absolutely, it was.

 **Abigail Harper:** Have you had sex recently?

 **S. Jacobs:** I have. Although it shouldn’t be, I think it’s different for men than it is for women, but perhaps that’s changing with the times as well. Young women seem to be much freer, in a sexual sense, than they were even when I was younger.

 **Abigail Harper:** I think the young people seem to have it right. I was raised with way too many constraints, trappings that I only realized where there when I was older.

 **S. Jacobs:** Constraints can be enjoyed as well, Ms. Harper.

 **Abigail Harper:** You know what I mean.

 **S. Jacobs:** Yes, I know what you mean. Will you do something for me tonight, Abigail?

 **Abigail Harper:** It depends on what it is.

 **S. Jacobs:** I want you to sleep naked. I want you to please yourself however you find the most pleasure. Then I want you to sleep naked. Will you do that for me tonight?

 **Abigail Harper:** I will. Will you be pleasing yourself too?

 **S. Jacobs:** Would you like it if I did?

 **Abigail Harper:** Yes.

 **S. Jacobs:** Would you like for me to sleep naked as well?

 **Abigail Harper:** Yes.

 **S. Jacobs:** While you please yourself you will think of me.

 **Abigail Harper:** Will you think of me too?

 **S. Jacobs:** Are we becoming friends, Ms. Harper?

 **Abigail Harper:** I think so, yes.

 **S. Jacobs:** I will think of you and your freckles while I please myself tonight. Goodnight Ms. Harper.

 **Abigail Harper:** Goodnight Mr. Jacobs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are love!


End file.
